by Sheila Lowe
Jessica introduced herself, hoping to feel a special fizz of energy when their hands met, a sensation might give her a clue to where Ethan and his father were. All she got was a keen sense of hopelessness.
The faint smell of alcohol trailed Abby as she beckoned them to follow her through the laundry room and kitchen. The interior lights in the front of the house were off but strong lamps shone through the closed café curtains over the kitchen window, which faced the front yard. The media, hoping for a glimpse.
Abby took them to a tidy den at the rear. No small boy toys were in evidence. Hardwood flooring, a fireplace set in brickwork, wall-mounted TV; a turquoise sectional sofa, a recliner. French doors led to a patio lit by floodlights.
“I’m trying to make sure none of those news people sneak into the backyard,” said Abby. “I’ve caught them peeking through the kitchen and living room windows, so I keep the lights off up front and stay back here. Or upstairs.” She let go of a long sigh. “Thank you for coming tonight. Why don’t you have a seat.”
Zach took one end of the sofa, Jessica the other. She wondered whether Abby was a neat freak. Then she remembered that Zach had said she packed up everything belonging to her child. She had expected to put him in the car and escape whatever had driven her to make such a plan. The same as Jessica herself had done. She felt a renewed surge of empathy for Ethan Starkey’s mother.
When they both declined her half-hearted offer of a drink, Abby looked relieved. She picked up a wine glass from the coffee table and drained the half-inch of red pooled in the bottom, her weary eyes roaming the room as though a waiter might show up with a refill.
Zach leaned in, drawing her attention to him. “So, Abby, like I told you on the phone, Jess thought she might be able to pick up something—”
“I’m not a professional psychic or anything like that,” Jessica interrupted, not wanting him to speak for her. “Sometimes I see pictures of people in my mind. I’d like to hold some object that belongs to Ethan, maybe a piece of his clothing, or a toy. It might give me—I guess I’d call it a vibe. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. I understand how—”
Abby’s eyes widened, sparking with sudden anger. “You understand? How the hell can you possibly—”
Jessica paid no attention to the silent warning Zach was throwing her way. She knew the roots of Abby’s anger too well.
Well-meaning people said what Jessica had, but in most cases, they were talking out of their hat. Their ninety-year-old aunty passed away, or a friend died of an illness, or a pet. She had been angry too, when those people told her they knew how she felt after Justin’s death. How could they possibly know? All grief is terrible but no experience compared to the upended order of things that is the loss of a child.
She tried again. “You’re right, of course, Abby. What I meant was, I had a son a year younger than Ethan is now. And I was ready to take him one night and leave. We had an accident and I will never, ever stop blaming myself. So, it’s true that it’s not the same and I can’t know how you feel. But I do know how it feels not to have my child with me. And I hope with all my heart that I can help bring Ethan back to you.”
Abby’s face fell, the anger melting. “What happened to your son?”
“He died in the accident.”
Jessica heard herself say the words and marveled. Before Justin brought her the vision of himself and Mason at the beach, it was impossible for her to utter them. But now she knew he was alive in another form and another place. They had become mere words.
“Oh God, I’m so—I didn’t mean—I didn’t—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Abby. I’m here to help if I can. I just wanted you to know that I do get it.”
Tears spilled down Abby’s cheeks. Sniffling, she wiped them away with the heel of her hand. “I’m kind of a mess right now, but I do appreciate you being here.” She hesitated, hopeful but afraid to ask. “Are you picking up anything?”
“Not yet. I’m kind of new at this. Is there a photo of Ethan I could hold? I saw the one they showed on TV, but if you have one—”
“I gave my favorite to the FBI, but maybe this—” Abby got up and went to Zach’s side of the sofa. She picked up a picture frame and handed to Jessica, face down. “I can’t stand to look at him. I feel so damned guilty.”
“You have nothing to feel guilty for, Abby,” said Zach.
Turning the frame over, Jessica wondered which one she couldn’t stand to look at—father or son.
The picture had been taken at a zoo enclosure. A blond man with a high forehead held a small boy with brown hair arranged in a bowl cut. His face gleamed with delight. His mouth was open in a wide “Ooooh” of excitement.
As she touched it, Jessica got an immediate, intense feeling that Trey Starkey’s bland smile was phony, that it hid a darker side of his character. Was she imagining it, knowing that he had taken the child from his mother? The answer came quickly. No. The plain truth was, Trey Starkey gave her the creeps.
She set the picture back on the end table, glad to have it out of her hands. “Could I see Ethan’s room now, please?”
“I’ll take you,” said Abby.
When Zach started to rise, Jessica put out a restraining hand. “I think you should wait for us here. It’s better if we don’t add more energy to the mix.” It was one of those random thoughts that seemed to appear from out of nowhere and drop into her mind.
He shrugged. “If you say so.”
Following Abby across the room, Jessica took a quick look back, glad to see that he was already doing something with his phone, checking email or texting. It was hard enough having to pretend a confidence she did not feel, without having to work with Zach and his on-again-off-again skepticism as an audience.
On the second-floor landing, where they would not be visible to the media people down on the sidewalk, Abby switched on a light. “We have four bedrooms,” she said, pointing them out as they went. “This is our room. This one is Trey’s home office. This is a guest room.”
As they approached the door at the far end of the landing Abby’s breathing became shallow. She stopped at the door, her hand grasping the lintel as if she needed the support. “This is Ethan’s room. I got everything out of the car and unpacked his clothes and toys. I’ve put everything back where it belongs so he can see everything the same as always when he—” She broke off and stepped aside.
With a quick prayer that she would be able to open a channel to the little boy, or, if worse had come to worst, his spirit, Jessica took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
FIFTEEN
The brightly colored cartoon faces of Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends, each tucked into its own tunnel, grinned out from the wall behind a preschooler-sized bed. An applique of Thomas’ big round face decorated the bedspread. The pile of plush animals in front of the pillow were a reminder that at four years old, Ethan was not far away from being a toddler.
Tall wooden letters tacked on the wall spelled out his name. There was a dresser painted blue. Hand-painted words and cartoon drawings named the contents of each drawer: pajamas, shirts, shorts and pants. Inexplicably, the bottom drawer bore a sketch of a helicopter.
“I had so much fun painting that dresser while I was pregnant,” said Abby, following Jessica inside. “Trey was thrilled about the baby. It was all so good back then because I was always home.”
Moving further into the room, Jessica tuned out the anxious blather. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the image of Ethan’s face from the photo downstairs, speaking to him telepathically.
Ethan, can you hear me?
At first she felt nothing at all. Then a terrible ripple of fear ran through her body that left her shaken.
Ethan? I’m here to help you.
“I want my Henry.”
Everything is gonna be okay, Ethan. Who is Henry?
“Where is Henry?”
My name is—
“What’s wrong?”
The iron grip of nervous fingers around her wrist broke the spell and brought Jessica’s awareness back into the room with a shock. Abby was staring at her, eyes dilated with fear. “Why are you crying?”
Jessica wanted to shrug her off, tell her to shut up and let her work. She moved away, so that Abby had to let go. “I need to tune in with him and that means I have to focus. I can’t do that when you’re asking me questions.”
“But why were you crying? What’s wrong? Is he hurt? He’s not—”
Brushing away tears that were not her own, Jessica ignored her. The tears, she was certain, were an impression of Ethan’s emotional state.
“Please,” she said. “Let’s just be quiet.”
Relaxing her gaze, she allowed her vision to soften and blur, the way she did when she needed to access her right brain for her artwork. She turned in a slow circle, observing the room, letting the sense that she was on the brink of discovery tell her what to do next.
Dresser. Bed. Rocking chair. TV—
Isn’t he a little young for his own TV? Focus, Jess. Concentrate.
Toys. Model of the Space Shuttle, gigantic box of Legos, Fisher Price jungle, tub of plastic jungle animals. Two-foot tall Tyrannosaurus Rex.
The T-Rex seemed to call her. She went and picked it up, hugging the hard plastic against her. “This is his favorite,” she said with certainty.
Abby’s smile came and went. “He loves that ugly thing to death. Takes it everywhere with him—school, the grocery. Wait a minute. How the heck do you know that?”
“Just a feeling I got.”
“He fell in love with dinosaurs when Trey took him to the La Brea Tar Pits a while back.” The more she spoke, the more animated Abby became. “He wants to grow up and be a paleontologist. Not that he can pronounce it—he says ‘pelonist,’—but studying fossils turns him on.”
“My sister and I took Justin to the Tar Pits,” Jessica said, connecting with Abby over the shared memory. “He thought the mammoths were real. He wanted us to rescue them from the tar.”
“They have that Fishbowl lab there, where you can watch them working on fossils.” Abby sighed again. “Ethan would dig up the whole backyard if we’d let him.”
Her words gave Jessica a small jolt. The FBI must have checked out the Starkey’s backyard. If Trey Starkey had done the unthinkable, surely he would not have buried his son right outside their home. But then, who knew that he would steal his own child?
As if there was flesh and bone under the plastic, the T-Rex seemed to pulsate in her arms. Abby reached out and stroked it like a pet. “Ethan named him Henry. I have no clue as to why, or where he got that name. From TV, maybe.”
“That’s the name he gave me when we connected,” Jessica said. “He misses Henry.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Abby’s face crumpled. “He misses Henry, but he doesn’t miss me? What else didn’t you tell me?”
“When you grabbed my arm the connection got broken. It was too soon for me to get anything else. Abby, you’ve got to send him messages from your heart all the time; let him know you’re thinking of him. Tell him you love him.”
Once again, words were pouring from Jessica’s mouth without her knowing where they originated. Maybe her spirit guides were helping after all. This whole mediumship-psychic thing was so confusing and upsetting. There seemed to be no rules as to when it worked and when it didn’t.
She had to admit she was a rank novice and far out of her depth. What if—what if—what if—A child’s life was in the balance and all they had to go on was her murky sense impressions. She could not stand to think it, but in the darkest reaches of her core, the accusation was there:
What if you’re to blame for Ethan’s death? Like you are for Justin’s.
Jessica hugged Henry the T-Rex to her, wanting to reject the accusation. But it came from inside her and that left nowhere to go. She caught herself. If she did not quiet her thoughts, she would get nowhere. She began to inhale slow, deep breaths. One-two-three-four-five—
Ethan’s bedroom disappeared.
Charcoal clouds painted a dusk sky. She was standing at the rim of a small body of water where the cattails were almost as tall as she was. More of a large pond than a lake—the place her guide had showed her earlier. Behind her was a split rail fence with a section of fencing broken out, large enough for a child to crawl through.
She looked down. As if they were her own, she saw short, denim-clad legs wearing Spiderman rain boots.
Hi, Ethan. My name is Jessica.
“Where’s my Papa?”
Can you tell me where you are?
“I wanna go home.”
I’ll help you get home.
“I’m scared. I’m all alone. Where’s Papa?”
Where are you, Ethan? Can you tell me—
Jessica broke off the question. Something was pulling at her from inside. There was no pain but the freaky sensation scared her. Nothing should be attached to the inside of her navel, trying to turn her inside out. She bent over, pulling back with all her might at the invisible cord. It stretched, then snap.
And just as when she died in the accident, then came back, Jessica was propelled back into her body with the speed of a lightning bolt.
She staggered backward, eyes still squeezed shut, reaching behind her, trying to remember how far she was from the wall. She backed up until her hands came in contact with the smooth surface and slid all the way down to the floor. Resting her forehead on bent knees, Jessica struggled to understand what had just happened.
“What’s wrong? Jessica? What’s wrong?”
Jessica ignored the shrill questions somewhere close to her ear. She was experiencing the now-familiar prickle tickling her hair; the sense of another energy blending with hers.
“It’s okay, Mom, I’ll help you.”
Justin.
Her eyelids fluttered open. She was back in Ethan’s room. Yet, not quite Ethan’s room. This was a psychedelic trip, the colors too vivid, the surfaces rippling, twisting. The air felt liquidy, like soapy water.
“Jessica, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” Abby, who had been crouched at her side, jumped up and ran to the doorway, yelling down to Zach. “Something’s wrong with Jessica. Hurry.”
What had just happened? Was she stuck between two worlds? Her tongue felt thick and heavy, the way it had when she’d had the episode at Arial’s Gallery.
The sound of heavy feet on the staircase.
Zach went straight to where she sat propped against the wall and crouched beside her. “What happened?”
“She started looking kind of weird, then she bent over and grabbed her stomach.”
“Would you please get her some water?”
“Of course, I’ll be right back.”
Zach spoke quietly. “Jess? Are you having one of those episodes?”
Shaking her head yes brought on a wave of vertigo. Each connection she’d made with spirit so far had been unique. The pulling in her stomach was like nothing she had experienced.
Ethan’s fear had come through loud and clear. She was confident he had connected with her. The question was, where was he connecting from? Was he alive? Or had he crossed into spirit? That, she was unable to tell.
She set down Henry the dinosaur, still clutched in her arms, and accepted the glass of water Abby offered.
“Let’s give her some room,” said Zach, moving himself and Abby out of her space.
Jessica gulped the entire glass, relieved as the colors relaxed into their original hues. The walls and furniture returned to their ordinary, inanimate state. The dizziness began to fade.
Zach and Abby stood in the doorway, looking at her expectantly.
“I was talking to Ethan and—”
An electronic roar shocked her into silence.
The T-Rex’s jaws opened wide. The huge green eyes flashed red. It lumbered toward Abby, emitting one roar after another. With a shriek, Ethan’s mother shrank behind Zach.
By
the time he leapt to pick up the dinosaur it had reached the wall, its clawed feet still trying to move. Zach flipped the switch to ‘off’ and set it back on the floor, stepping away as if it might turn into a real dinosaur at any moment.
“You must have accidentally turned it on, Jess,” he said accusingly.
“I was not touching it,” she retorted, scrambling to her feet. “Nobody was near it.”
“Omigod, he’s dead,” Abby moaned. “Ethan is dead and he’s haunting Henry.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Jessica said. “He’s trying to reach you through the toy.”
How was she supposed to make a rational case for her impression that, somehow, using her energy to reach through time and space, Ethan’s yearning for Henry and his mother was the force behind the dinosaur’s startling animation?
Is he dead or alive? I can’t let her give up hope until we know for sure.
“What did you see?” Abby demanded. “Tell me everything. Don’t lie to spare me.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. I felt Ethan. I didn’t see him, but I felt that he was wearing jeans and a SpongeBob t-shirt with Spiderman boots and—”
“Yes,” Abby uttered. “His Spiderman boots. He wears them everywhere. Where was he? Was he okay?”
“I’m not sure where he was. It was a rural-looking place. I saw a pond and very tall reeds and cattail plants all around it.”
“Does that sound like any place you know?” Zach asked.
Abby’s crestfallen face gave the answer. She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t ring any bells at all. Are you positive? Wasn’t there anything else?”
“I’m sorry. That’s all there was.”
If she tried to explain the weird tugging feeling in her solar plexus, it would make no sense to them. Neither of them would understand that it was like being connected to some unknown thing or being that was pulling her towards it. Maybe she should have asked her guides for protection before making the link. Her internet research and meeting with Bella Bingham had left her with more questions than answers. This was as difficult as dealing with amnesia.